


i wish i want

by vacationer



Series: this slutty mormon boy gave me a case of the gay [1]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ficlet, M/M, POV First Person, sex mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-15 00:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11794938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vacationer/pseuds/vacationer
Summary: Time goes on and feelings grow stronger.





	i wish i want

**Author's Note:**

> hi there, i'm over ryden but i wrote this last fall and finally wanted to share it. i call this au, "this slutty mormon boy just gave me a case of the gay" 
> 
> brendon moves in with ryan, spence, and jon during a semester at school, ryan falls hard, but brendons still a pretty devout, sexuality denying mormon. i had an ex-lds church friend help me out when we discussed it all, so im not crossing boundaries i shouldnt! 
> 
> anyways, ryan complaining

January rain pours, and fucking pours. I blow cigarette smoke out of the window, and the drops seem to push it to the ground. Light from my room reflects dimly on wet shingles, I rarely turn on the ceiling lamp. I find it unnecessary and too bright. A half burnt out string of Christmas lights hang above my bed. Candles cast a wavering glow on the wall. I can’t fucking stop thinking about him.

All my lyrics are about him, and it’s making me a little sick. 

He’s saying he’s straight, and I need to accept it and move on. I really, really need to, because all I can think of is the color of his eyes, and his smile when he tells me about some new band he’s found, and the way his glasses slide down his nose when he’s focused on the fretboard of my borrowed acoustic. 

It’s crazy how overwhelming the urge to hold his hand has become. We walk down the street, still high, slushy snow beneath our shoes, and I almost always reach out. It’s instinct. I think he’s began to notice. 

I want to kiss his neck and fuck him right, because I know no one but me will ever appreciate his body like I do. I feel gross for staring. I feel gross for jacking it to the thought of him moaning under me, hair pushed back with sweat, nails digging into my skin. He’s caught me after showers, and I can’t even look him in the eye, because he gives me that vague sense of paranoia that he can read my mind. See what I’ve been thinking about.

I want him to be mine. I can’t figure anything out.

I don’t know. Maybe we do find the answers to life listening to Led Zeppelin, stoned in the dark. Maybe his eyes hold my future. Is that why I hold his gaze until he looks away? I don’t know. I do know that his favorite song at the moment is Going to California. I do know that we laid on the floor of the basement, staring at each other listening to it on repeat. I do know that I love him. I do know that it’s going to kill me. I don’t know how much longer I can take this.  


I drop my ash out the window, and it falls to the ground with the rain. I wish it would stop raining. I wish I could stop loving him.


End file.
